


i earn my life, i earn my life

by sam_suffers



Series: angsty sbi fics [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Autism, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Neurodiversity, Technoblade Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_suffers/pseuds/sam_suffers
Summary: Ranboo has been fostered by Phil but is reluctant to trust his new "family", especially with some of his problems that he would much rather hide, until he is shown that it's okay.[this is in no way representative of the actual people in this fic, this is just a real world AU of their Dream SMP characters, if any of the CC are uncomfortable with this type of fiction, I will take it down immediately]
Relationships: Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: angsty sbi fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193867
Comments: 21
Kudos: 641





	i earn my life, i earn my life

**Author's Note:**

> [this is in no way representative of the actual people in this fic, this is just a real world AU of their Dream SMP characters, if any of the CC are uncomfortable with this type of fiction, I will take it down immediately]
> 
> Also I wrote Ranboo's character so that he can be interpretted as either Autistic or having ADHD with anxiety, as I just based it off of some of my real world experiences, and I don't have a clue what's up with me! If there are any errors in representation or just basic spelling/grammar please tell me. I'm not a great writer but enjoy.

Ranboo was an interesting boy, a little too trusting, slightly snarky but with good intent and a brain that only ever served to betray him. His lanky and awkward body pretty much reflected how he felt on the inside and most of the time he just wished that he could shrink, take up less space and less attention, so less people would look at him and expect him to make eye contact.

Eye contact made him feel awful, brought him out in an anxious sweat, it was too invasive and personal and the fact that most people were perfectly fine with it confused him to no end. He’s much rather stare at the floor, even if it made his neck hurt after too long, it was better than the feeling of being caught like a deer in headlights. He could get very easily overwhelmed and had learnt from previous homes that it was much better to do everything inconspicuous to stop himself from getting overwhelmed in the first place than to deal with the so called “tantrums”, which were more akin to panic attacks than anything.

Meltdowns or shutdowns or just needing to stim had never been something he was allowed to do, he’d been punished for them all before. He remembered an older lady who had only fostered him, made him do all the chores around the house, not that he minded that too much, but also blasted her old television at full volume, all hours of the day. That horrible static sound that only comes from TVs so old they needed to be retired themselves, crammed every space in the house, he couldn’t escape it unless he went outside, which he was rarely allowed to do. He’d try to stim in less noticeable ways, rocking slightly when he stood doing the dishes or strumming his fingers against his thigh, never the table, that was too loud. Still, he’d get in trouble, once involving a ruler being struck against his knuckles until he “learned to sit still like a good boy”. She sent him back shortly after anyway.

He was a month into his stay with Phil and he seemed nice at least, but then again, so had a lot of other families, normally it didn’t last quite this long for them to snap but he still couldn’t take his guard down. It was a nice house, with food and little to no yelling, he wasn’t going to give that up just because he couldn’t control himself. So he spent most of his time in his room, where he could have panic attacks in peace and cry as much as he wanted as long as he kept it silent, which, after years of practise, was easy as piss.

But… the people were so nice, genuinely nice, sure he probably couldn’t trust them but some part of him deeply wanted to. Phil was caring and a proper dad, he made sure his kids (the others had all been adopted, he’d been told, none of them were his biological kids) were okay.

Wilbur was a little older than Ranboo, perhaps two years older, and honestly Ranboo looked up to him quite a lot, he was really cool, he looked cool and played the guitar and never took jokes too far. It was a nice break from older “siblings” who’d just push him around and steal his money. Not that he had any money to steal, Phil had reassured him that he’d buy anything that Ranboo needed, but he wasn’t going to ask.

Phil was really nice to Wilbur, always listened to him when he was writing new songs, reassured him that they were good and helped him tweak parts that didn’t quite work. Ranboo had come down to the kitchen one night and hovered in the hallway when he saw Wilbur sitting at the table, books spread all over, crying in frustration over homework, by the looks of it, while Phill rubbed circles on his back and murmured words of comfort. It was oddly nice to see, Phil being a good dad with no strings attached. Ranboo had quickly gone back upstairs though, he didn’t trust that such courtesies would be extended to him, especially not if he were caught seeing something he was probably not supposed to see.

Phil was nice to Tommy too, even when he accidentally broke things or swore his head off at any minor inconvenience. Ranboo suspected he’d been in some similar homes to him, the way he would sometimes freeze up when he’d done something wrong or there was a loud noise that wasn’t coming from him, though that was just a hunch, he wouldn’t ask. But Phil always reacted calmly, didn’t raise his voice, or move his arms too fast. When things were broken, he’d just clean them up. No fuss. Still, Ranboo was extra careful to never break anything, Ranboo was not Tommy.

And then there was Technoblade, or Techno. Techno was initially very frightening, he talked monotonously and carried himself like he knew no one would dare touch him, and they wouldn’t because he was strong and a good fighter. Tommy had told Ranboo on his first week at the house that he’d broken a couple of people’s noses, people who had messed with him or his family. It did not settle his nerves any less than his dry witted sense of humour.

But Phil made sure Technoblade took his meds every day and didn’t need a refill, because apparently the older teen would almost always forget. Ranboo did not actually know what the meds where for but he thought that that was none of his business. Phil helped Techno dye his hair pink once a month, and although he’d only seen that madness once, it was marked on the calendar as a monthly occurrence, with Ranboo thought was really sweet. It made the terrifying guy a little less frightening, showed his humanity.

Techno also stimmed. He’d noticed it in a car ride to the shops a few weeks prior, when Tommy had called shotgun for the front seat and the other three had had to squeeze into the back, with Ranboo uncomfortably trapped in the middle. He’d noticed the way that Techno moved his hands back and forth, like he was shaking water off them. Nobody else seemed to notice or really pay attention, even when he started to hum rhythmically in time with his movements. Either he was the only person who could see and hear the other boy, or everyone else was so used to it that it wasn’t worth looking. It probably wasn’t the former, but he couldn’t trust that for sure.

He kept incredibly still that car journey.

And everything was fine, the possibility to he could probably stim without getting in trouble did cross his mind, a lot, daily, but he pushed it away. As much as Phil told him he was welcome, he knew that it was only a matter of time until they decided that he was too much, surely the man only had so much to give, only so much he could take. And he was already dealing with his memory problems, never getting mad when he forgot something, or panicked when he couldn’t find his book, Phil reminded him of where he was, what he was doing and what he needed to do. More than anyone else had ever done. He couldn’t abuse Phil’s patience.

But it hurt. Seeing such a happy family, who loved each other and got on, who only fought occasionally and always resolved it, but being separate from that. Every day felt like he was looking through a window, always outside, just watching a happy family and not _being_ part of a happy family. When he was in his room, he could panic, he could express himself and make whatever noises he wanted when no-one was around, he could rock and shake and tap. He could spend all of his day playing Minecraft in peace. It was better that way, safe and on his own. But oh god it hurt, especially when they seemed so desperate to include him, but he just _couldn’t._

And then something changed, something clicked.

He went down the stairs that morning, expecting to grab some fruit, make a cup of coffee, and head back upstairs to play Bedwars, but instead was faced with a family breakfast, a messy scene; Phil sat furthest away, at the head of the table, _attempting_ to read a newspaper (who even reads newspapers these days?) as Wilbur and Tommy threw cheerios at each other, occasionally hitting Phil instead, while yelling about something or other. He heard the phrase “big man” enough times to assume that Wilbur has insulted the other boy, probably about his height. That was normal. Sitting closest to the door, away from the cheerio war, Techno was on his phone. Peaceful.

“Morning Ranboo, sit down, did you remember that we’re going shopping today?” Phil noticed him hovering in the doorway, anxiously, not really sure if he should join in, apparently, he should.

“Uhhh…” he definitely had not, he’d check his book, maybe he’d written it down, “No.”

God he was so stupid, how could he have forgot. He opened his book as he sat down at the table, between the fallen cheerio soldiers and Techno, there was a page, written a few days ago. The shopping trip, it was a big one, they were going to get school supplies for everyone, ready for the new school year, and get clothes for everyone and a few more decorations for Ranboo’s mostly bare room. 

How could he have forgotten, it had been stressing him out since he’d been told. God, it was going to be awful. Awful. Awful. Awful.

He needed to stim, he felt like he was going to explode in anxiety, he wasn’t prepared, it was a change in his day that he was not prepared for, and shops were always filled with people, touching him, and looking at him and making noise, so much ungodly noise, cacophonies that echoed off of every baron wall.

He would have to make choices and try on clothes, he didn’t know what Phil would let him have and clothes were always a stress, certain fabrics made him want to throw up and tags and seams made him want to cry. New clothes were too stressful.

Sitting at the kitchen table, he was on the verge of tears as he catastrophized, what was really a shopping trip became a walk to his grave. He was scared, trying his best to keep his shaking to a minimum, keep his panic on the inside and keep his god damn hands still.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, he pushed his chair back and fled from the room, trying to look calm and normal, and not like he was fleeing, ignoring the background noise of people talking, maybe even talking to him, entirely focused on getting out and getting back to his room where he was safe and alone and safe.

Alone and safe.

Fuck.

Flapping his hands was helping at least, or at least stopping his panic from getting any further control of his breathing, as he choked a few breaths. Only a few, his throat was closing in a way that he was all too familiar with, his body found itself hitting on the edge of his bed, he couldn’t move quite as freely but it helped alleviate the feeling that he was imminently going to pass out.

Time was going all too slow and all too fast until he heard a knock at the door that made him freeze up entirely. _Why couldn’t people just leave him to panic ALONE._

If he just ignored it, they’d stop knocking. He didn’t have a lock on the door, it was a safety precaution, Phil had explained, but god he wished more than anything to have had a lock, in that moment, because, over the sound of his own strangled breath, he heard a deep voice mutter, “I’m coming in, okay?”

And there he was, the pink terrifying giant of a teenager, Techno, hovering in his doorway, seeing him in arguably his weakest moment in a long long time.

“Ah shit, I’m really bad at dealing with people panicking… I’m going to go get dad”  
  


“NO!” oh god he’d fucked up, he’d yelled, he wasn’t allowed to yell, surely he’d angered the other one, “… please don’t.”

Techno stood awkwardly before seemingly making up his mind and stepping in, closing the door quietly behind him, not wanting to make any noise that might frighten Ranboo… who was obviously not in a good state, he could see that clearly, his hair was stuck tight to his forehead damp with sweat, he was sitting scrunched up, with his head in his lap, as if he was trying to protect himself from an on-coming attack but with the expertise of someone who had never been taught how to. If Phil wasn’t an option, he guessed he’d have to try and help, sure he could probably leave but something in his gut felt deeply uncomfortable at the idea.

“Phil won’t make you go if you don’t want to, you know? You could just make a list of things you need and we can buy them…”

No response.

“Okay Ranboo, can I touch you?”

A frantic shake of the head. Okay, no touching. He sat down next to the other, far enough away to not touch him, even accidently.

“I need you to try and breathe with me, okay?”

Slight nod, okay, okay, good. Techno couldn’t panic, even though he really had no idea what to do. He’d seen Phil try and calm down Wilbur from a panic attack before but he’d never really paid much attention to how he did it, he always just sat with him afterwards, which he knew Wilbur liked. But everyone was different, what helped one person return to normal might make a different person worse.

“Good, okay, breathe in for 4 seconds… hold for 4 seconds.. good, breathe out for 4 seconds”.

And so they sat there for twenty minutes, Techno repeating the same mantra, over and over. It took a while but slowly and surely, Ranboo’s breathing became more and more controlled, less shaking, his knuckles where white as he grabbed onto himself, but eventually they turned to a more natural colour as he loosened his grip.

“Sorry, about that,” Ranboo chuckled unsteadily, taking his head out of his lap to look at his foster brother, or at least looking slightly past his shoulder, he couldn’t deal with eye contact, not right now.

“It’s fine,” then he noticed something he hadn’t properly noticed before, Ranboo was rocking ever so slightly but seemingly trying to repress it… he had a hunch, “You’re allowed to stim, I’m not going to judge you. I have ADHD after all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Ranboo began to rock more, it was nice, it was really nice, the best method of self-regulation he had, one that he was desperate to use but deeply ashamed of. But Techno did it. It was okay. He may not be able to trust any of his foster family entirely but god, it felt nice to have someone take him through a panic attack, instead of just wearing himself out, painfully, until he ended up exhausted and sobbing on his own.

“Can I tell Phil?” Techno asked cautiously, not wanting to cause a repeat of what had just happened, but if he told Phil, he could probably help a lot more.

Ranboo was too tired to argue, too tired of distrusting, “Okay.”

He grunted in response and left the room, again opening and closing the door quietly, leaving Ranboo alone again but feeling significantly less alone. He was okay. Thing’s were okay. He wasn’t sure how long it took to hear the creak of the stairs once again, but he was not expecting Phil to be the one to come back up to talk to him. God he didn’t want to get in trouble.

“Hey kid, Tech told me what happened, are you okay?” he spoke in a calm tone, not angry at him, it was nice, really nice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay now.”

“What happened, was it the shopping?”

“…yeah,” god he sounded so weak, getting upset over shopping, he visibly recoiled at the admission.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to go today, Tommy might throw a fit over it but he’ll cope.”

“It’s okay, we can go, I don’t want to be a burden” _more than you have been already,_ his mind supplied.

“We could go clothes shopping another day, and only buy school supplies today, that good?”

He hummed in agreement. That did sound good. Sure, shopping would always be stressful but clothes shopping was definitely the worst part.

“Alright mate, I’m going to go downstairs now, we’re going to leave in an hour, you don’t really have to come but it would be good if you could.”

“I’ll come, thank you,” He didn’t want to be left in the house alone, as much as he liked being alone in his room, the house when it was empty just felt wrong and threatening, like the silence would eat him alive.

“Do you want a hug?” Phil didn’t think that Ranboo was that interested in all that touchy-feely stuff but he’d always offer a hug to his sons, and Ranboo was his son, whether he realised it or not.

“…please,” so Phill wrapped him tightly in a hug, Ranboo could hear his heartbeat as they embraced, it was a calming beat, as weird as that probably was.

They stayed like that for a few seconds before Ranboo withdrew, he didn’t want to make it awkward. But as Phil walked out of the room, he stopped for a second and said, “It’s okay to stim if you need to or want to, Ranboo.”  
  
And once the door was finally shut, Ranboo began to cry. Happy and tired tears of realising he’d finally found a home, one where he could just be him, no add ons, no adults wanting him to change or stay still and quiet, where he was allowed to be upset and wouldn’t be ignored or worse, instead people cared enough to comfort him.

He’d be writing that moment down in his book, he didn’t want to forget any of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay ngl i just wrote this because i got told off for stimming when i got excited recently,,, and i have a bad relationship with my family, so, comfort fic? me, projecting onto fictional characters? it's more likely than you think.
> 
> if i write another fic for this fandom, which i probably wont, it'll probably be trans related cuz guess who's parents aren't quite as accepting as they have claimed to be? it's sam's, that's right.


End file.
